Content notice:
The following story contains depictions of negative body image, weight stigma, and diet talk.
I’ve done my best to portray these issues with empathy and sensitivity. Beauty comes in every size, and a joyous, fulfilling sex life is the privilege of anyone who wants one.
That said, if you’re someone who prefers to avoid such things altogether, you might try one of my other stories instead.
The characters depicted in the following story are all 18 or above. One of the themes involves sexual liaisons between young adult women and much older adults in a position of relative power over them.
The inclusion of this theme is for storytelling purposes only. It is not a comment on the advisability of such relationships in real life.
The Author
~
M.U.F.F., Part X
I was sleeping over at Alex’s house. She rummaged around in her bedroom closet until she found the plain paper bag–carefully hidden, lest a family member wander into her room and see inside it.
“Here,” she said, tilting the opening towards me.
“What is it?” I asked, pulling away the top layer of packing paper.
Underneath were two identical boxes, the word “rabbit” across the top of each in simple typeface.
“They’re the biggest ones they carry,” she boasted.
I pulled one of the boxes out, undid the top, and looked inside. I was face to glans with smooth, cock-shaped blue silicone.
“I got a blue one and a purple one,” she said. “Take which one you like better.”
“I think I’ll stick with this one,” I said.
“I got some batteries for them,” she said with a devilish smile.
Oh no, I thought. Am I going to have to do something weird? Another Alex dare?
She pulled out the other box, opened it, and held the large purple vibrator aloft.
“Let’s give them a little test run,” she declared. “We can do it with our backs to each other and see who gets there first.”
“Alex…”
“Or facing each other, if that’s your style.”
“Not everybody’s as comfortable with this stuff as you are.”
We compromised. Alex went to the bathroom; I stayed in her room.
I strained to hear, but a door, a hallway, and another door between us blocked out whatever sound she and her new toy might have made.
I sat on the edge of her bed, turning the vibrator over in my hands.
I was supposed to try it out and report back.
Sometimes, it felt as if there was a permanent handbrake on my brain, keeping me from steering into the unknown, whereas Alex went straight for it.
I felt the vibrator up and down, its soft texture, its smooth contours, the surprising weight of it. I’d never owned a vibrator before, or any sex toy for that matter.
It was such a nice gift. I was afraid to disappoint Alex.
When she came back, I let her talk first, then made something up that seemed satisfactory.
For her part, she seemed pleased with it, sparing no details in her vivid description of what it did for her.
Later that night, as we got into her bed together, she dared me to get naked. She was always trying to get me to do stuff–to “bust you out of your comfort zone,” she would say.
Not wanting to risk disappointing her a second time, I did it–in the dark, under the covers. I somehow kicked my pajamas down to the foot of the bed, and almost panicked when my foot lost track of them.
Laughing, she stroked my bare collarbone and put her cold feet on my naked hip.
“Someday,” she said, “you’ll be in bed naked with a boy, and you’ll be glad you had me for practice.”
I slept with my back to her. I woke up after a fitful sleep to orange sunlight–still early–and found that she was spooning me, her arm draped over the widest part of my hip.
She was snoring, a loud, embarrassing sound that felt like it might rattle my teeth. I tested her, moving a little, and felt mortified when she stopped snoring.
But she didn’t wake up.
I slipped from her grasp, got up out of bed, avoided the sight of my fat sunlit body in the mirror hanging on the inside of her permanently-open closet door.
I got dressed. No panties; those were lost somewhere in the bed with my pajamas. I put my pants on without them.
Someday, the pajamas would be returned to me.
The whereabouts of my panties, though, would forever remain a mystery.
~
Alex and I lie there naked together on her living room floor, with her flat on her back and me clinging to her warm, sweaty body, my hand cupping her humid vulva.
Soon, she stirs, and sits up, her bare skin sticking briefly to the duvet. We make out for a while, my fingers playing over her body–still a novelty that I get to touch it.
I have half a mind to get myself off with my fingers while she watches, or bend her over the couch, or invite her to take a long bath with me.
But the morning is dragging on. Eventually, we get up and get dressed. I have to leave Alex’s house, leave behind this moment of sexual fantasia, so that we can both get on with our lives.
It’s okay. I don’t know what we are to each other, but it’s more than we were yesterday.
And there will be plenty of opportunities for both of our fantasies.
On the way to the front door, I ask her, “How many more days without your parents?”
“Tonight and tomorrow,” she says.
“You should go through with your plan. Call some boys, get laid. For real this time.”
“Maybe,” she says.
We kiss in her doorway.
As I drive away, I think, she probably won’t.
But I hope she does.
~
As it turns out, she does.
The morning after our tryst on her living room floor, she calls me and excitedly tells me about this “dumb football boy” I vaguely remember. For a time, he went to our school, a year ahead, but transferred.
He was only the second guy whose number she had tried from her contacts. (The first didn’t pick up.) When she intimated clearly enough what she was looking for, they made plans that very night.
Alex spares no details, and I spare no questions.
It sounds to me like a fairly mundane straight boy fuck. But the significance to her isn’t lost on me.
“I even got him off by sucking his cock,” she says. “I swallowed his cum, and I think I actually like the taste of cum now!”
The way she says it, I can tell she’s particularly proud of this part.
Hell, I’m proud of her. Her first blowjob. And it sounds like she’s a natural.
“Would you see him again?” I ask.
“I think so,” she says.
“How about other boys?”
“Hell yes.”
We both laugh.
We sign off the phone call. I’m sorely tempted to end with “I love you,” but I don’t. I’ll let it be.
I learn from a voicemail later that night that she can’t lock someone down for her last night of having the house to herself. She sounds disappointed. I’m disappointed for her.
In the meantime, I’m busy with a date of my own. The kind I get paid for.
When I get back to my car, $150 richer, I return Alex’s call.
She speaks wistfully some more on the football guy, about how good he looked naked and how sweaty and chubby he was and this and that, mostly a whole lot of what I’ve already heard.
Not that I mind at all. The genuine joy in her voice when she babbles about it makes it more compelling than any of the bullshit fuck stories she used to tell me.
After a while, she asks me what I’m up to, in a way that tells me she suspects she already knows.
I tell her. Just the broad strokes at first, but she asks me for details.
“Do you really want to know?” I ask.
She does.
I say, “He’s a 60-something white guy with a small cock, which, as it turns out, he has something of a fixation on.”
She laughs nervously. I still don’t know if she’s going to be on board with this.
I say, “He had on women’s lingerie under his street clothes. I was pretty turned on by it, though I also kind of wanted to give him some pointers.”
“Wow,” she says, “what did he want?”
“One, that I remain clothed, and that I lower my pants–like I was on a toilet–and masturbate in front of him while I made fun of his cock.”
“Haha, jesus.”
“Two, that I put my foot on his chest, with my boot still on, so he could ‘smell the leather’ while he jerked off.”
She snorts. “Aren’t all your leather boots fake?”
“Yeah!” I say. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the boots are PVC. He seemed to like it anyway.”
“Did you fuck him?”
“No, that’s all he wanted. He wanted someone to get pleasure from his humiliation, which is something he gets off to.”
“Are they all this weird?”
“No,” I say, debating how much detail to give her. “Most of them are just older guys who want to fuck someone young, or someone fat, or something else they want that they’re not supposed to have.”
I hesitate, but then I add, “Some of them are weird, though. Way weirder than this guy.”
“You’ll have to tell me about the really weird ones sometime.”
Again, I ask, “Is that the kind of stuff you want to know about?”
Firmly, she says, “I do.”
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s make a date sometime and I’ll tell you about some of them.”
“Yeah,” she says. “Let’s make a date.”
“You want to go on a date with me?”
“I want to go on a date with you.”
I hesitate again.
Then I ask, “Are we dating?”
She hesitates, too.
Then she says, “Yeah. I think we are.”
“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”
Silence on the line.
Then, “I do.”
As I drive home, the $150 in my purse feels worthless compared to the excitement buzzing in my heart.
~
It takes some doing–I have several “dates” lined up, all of them for money–but Alex and I schedule a weekend night when we can both get out to a diner at a quiet hour.
The night before, I’m with Christopher.
(Later, I’ll discover that she’s busy herself in this very moment, fucking a late 20-something guy she met on a dating app. She makes him come by grinding on top of him, which delights her to no end.)
He pays me $200. We disrobe. He produces two rocks glasses and we squeeze into the tiny hotel room bathroom.
I watch him urinate into one of the glasses–not much, maybe an ounce or two–then pass the rest of it into the toilet.
After some doing, I manage to get some piss of my own into the other glass. He takes amusement watching me pee in front of him, squatting over the toilet, holding the glass between my legs.
Then he swaps the glasses–his for me, mine for him.
“Cheers, lil’ lady,” he says, and we drink up.
In the main room, I get on all fours on the bed. After no small number of gratuitous kisses on and around my asshole, he lubes his fingers up, strokes me there, until his fingers glide smoothly in and out.
He kneels behind me, slowly introduces his cock into my ass, and fucks me, his piss sloshing around in my stomach. I’m mostly fine, but there are a couple moments when I’m not terribly comfortable.
No matter how many times I drink it, urine never quite sits right with me.
But Christopher likes it, and I like him, and he’s willing to pay extra.
He pounds me until he comes. After a minute, I feel his softening cock slither out of my ass, the condom crinkling.
I don’t come, but that’s okay.
My nights with Christopher always leave me with potent jill-off material for when I get home, or sometimes for when I only make it to my car. He’s so sweet, and slightly cruel. He might be my favorite.
In the shower, he asks me if I’ll be at Jack’s party at the end of the month. At first, I’m surprised he knows about it, but then I realize, of course he does.
Obviously, he’ll be there too.
As we get dressed, he’s giving me a peculiar look.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“You seem different,” he says. “Cheery.”
I smile. “I have a date tomorrow.”
He laughs, and says, “You have a lot of dates, little sister.”
“No, I mean a date date. With my new girlfriend.”
His eyes light up, and he goes into his pants pocket for something, and he hands it to me. It’s a $100 bill.
“Here,” he says. “A little something extra. Use it to treat your lady right.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Hell, you’re probably at a point where you should be charging more anyway. You’re good, and you’re getting a reputation.”
“How much?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’d be surprised, how much you could get away with.”
“$200? $300?”
“At least! And a couple hundred more, just for the piss-drinkers.”
We both laugh.
Then he asks me, “Will your girlfriend be at the party?”
I hadn’t thought about that.
I tell him, “I’ll ask her,” though I’m not sure I will.
~
Alex and I have our diner date, and I tell her some of my more colorful stories. Some of them make her laugh. Sometimes, she looks shocked.
The whole time, there’s a look in her eyes, as though she’s trying to figure out who I am.
Every time our server comes near, we hush, and every time he retreats, we burst into giggling.
As the subject of my sordid sex life dies out, we wend our way through small talk. That’s when she tells me she got asked out yesterday at the bookstore, and she’s pretty sure it was a sexual proposition.
“Who?” I ask.
She blushes. “This woman in the science fiction section in, like, a boho skirt and a peasant top.”
“Our age?”
“No. Maybe 30?”
“Did you say yes?”
“I felt a little weird, being approached out of nowhere. But then it seemed like she was giving me a fuck-me look, and I got really excited, so I said yes.”
“Yes to what?”
She blushes again. “Tea at her house. Tomorrow afternoon.”
I start laughing, and she gets redder.
She insists, “She said she had a rare book collection I might be interested in seeing.”
I only laugh harder.
“Babe,” I tell her, “you and this person will have fucked by this time tomorrow.”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe I misunderstood. I probably did.”
I get the woman’s name out of her and look up her social media pages.
All the while, Alex is saying, “How do we even know she’s… you know, like us? How do I even know it was about sex?”
I show her the pictures I’ve found.
I say, “She does tarot readings. She has pet rats. She’s been to at least six burlesque shows just this year. She’s trying to fuck you.”
Alex has clammed up, but she looks resigned.
Then, quietly, she says, “But I’m not good at it.”
“How else are you going to get good at it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you want to get good at?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never…” she trails off.
“What?”
“Never given oral.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I want to.”
I turn this over in my mind.
“As much as I’ve done,” I tell her, “I’ve actually never gone down on a woman either.”
Alex looks surprised, but I remind her that my only experiences with women are her and my one night with Darla.
“Your parents are back, right?” I ask her.
She nods.
“Are they asleep by now?”
She nods again.
~
The lights are on. Alex spreads out on her bed, naked, reclining on her back against her pillows. Her knees are up and her legs are apart, basking in full illumination.
(Even though there’s nothing unusual about Alex bringing friends to her room in the wee hours, we snuck in. It felt romantic.)
Despite the rapidity of our explorations, I’ve never actually gotten a good look at her pussy. It’s very pretty–delicate outer labia, pale pink inner labia peeking through. Immaculately bald.
An almost invisible vein rambles down her perineum, disappearing into the cleft of her ass. A tan halo, just the hazy outer edge, shows between the cheeks.
I’m kneeling between her knees, also naked, my face positioned just over her fragrant treasure. I test her with a fingertip; she’s sopping wet. Anticipation, no doubt.
“Shall I?” I ask her.
I meant for it to sound cheeky, but my voice comes out all husky and turned-on.
“Please do,” she says.
“Do what?” I ask, wickedly.
She lifts her head and glares through half-lidded eyes.
“Eat my fucking pussy, you whore” she growls.
I laugh, and cover the whole of her vulva with my open mouth and tongue. She exhales slowly, her reaction to the contact immediate.
A shock of horniness traveled my body when she barked those words at me–her obscenity, her demeaning name-calling. It isn’t the first time I’ve been given a stern command and liked it.
We’ll have to get into that further before too long.
I try a few things on her and realize quickly that I’ve been lied to by years of magazine articles and online advice columns. I revert to treating my tongue like a big, wet finger.
At first, I give her a shallow pressure, pulsing gently, letting the broad, flat surface of my tongue rock her back and forth.
She smells amazing. She tastes amazing. It’s odd, like a cross between melted butter and a musty old book.
I hear her breathing slowly, evenly. Her fingers thread their way into my hair, squeezing rhythmically, pulling deliciously at my scalp. I follow her rhythm.
I back off a little, let the tip of my tongue find her sweet spot, and concentrate the rhythm there.
I think this is working.
Soon, her hips are lifting off the bed, and I’m moving my head to stay with her, driving at her more firmly, but never moving or breaking that rhythm–
She cries out, just for a moment, then claps her hands over her own mouth and moans into them, her breath hissing between her fingers.
My face stays mashed against her soft pubis as she comes down. Her breathing slows.
I don’t think she was loud enough for anyone to hear.
It isn’t that I care about getting caught, but the explanation would be awkward.
I crawl atop her and we kiss. She seems unconcerned with the wetness of my lips and my chin, saturated by my spit and her secretions.
For her to be so voracious, to devour the juices of her own arousal, delights me enormously.
As she comes to, and as I lie down in her place–my turn now–I contemplate what a waste it was. All those years she waited, never slaking her chronic horniness.
Her mouth is on my pussy, and I’m walking her through it, using a mixture of advice I’ve gleaned from very recent experiences and my intuition about my own body.
Initially, she gets carried away, and I have to ask her to back off from my clit a couple times.
But, as it turns out, she’s a very good listener.
A combination of my arousal and her laser-guided attention to my instructions soon has me covered in spit and pussy stuff, her tongue stroking me just… right.
I’m dimly aware that I’m squeezing her head between my big thighs, that her forehead, just visible over the hills of my breasts and belly, is turning beet red, but I don’t care.
I’m having an orgasm, and my girlfriend Alex is giving it to me, and I’ve had the unbelievable luck of falling in with a best friend who seems to have a preternatural knack for this.
When I return to reality, she’s nestled into the crook of my arm, stroking my belly, enjoying the soft give of my fat without guilt or shame. Her wet face is pressed to the side of my tit.
She crawls on top of me, and we make out, her hips between my thighs, lustily humping my pubis with hers as a man would.
My hand travels over her ass, and, after a moment’s hesitation, I find her butthole with the tip of my middle finger. It’s sticky with sweat and wayward girlcum.
She pauses for a moment at the unfamiliar contact, but she says nothing. She resumes humping me and kissing me, while I draw lazy circles around her anus.
Eventually, our genitals have cooled off enough, and we go at it again. Like last time, I do her first, then she does me. The air in the room is thick with sweat and sex.
It’s even better the second time.
TO BE CONTINUED
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